


Say My Name

by Josie_Lange



Category: Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M, Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:55:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28386573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josie_Lange/pseuds/Josie_Lange
Summary: Ainslee Cousland, Hero of Ferelden, is tasked with rebuilding the Grey Wardens and the Arling of Amaranthine after the Battle of Denerim. With a broken heart and rumors of a conspiracy swirling around her, can she lead the Grey Wardens, the arling, and possibly find love again? Written for the "Still Cheeky Monkeys of DA" Secret Santa exchange.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This short story was written for the annual Secret Santa exchange for the "Still Cheeky Monkeys of DA" fan group. This was written for Kira Tamarion, who likes characters with "a bit of snow on the chimney." I saw Varel's name on the list and the idea for this story popped into my head. I had so much fun delving into Varel's head!
> 
> Huge thanks to my awesome beta, Suliven, who beat this about with her big beta stick. You rock!
> 
> Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all!

“Warden Commander, we’re nearly there.”

Ainslee Cousland nodded to the Grey Warden recruit beside her as they rounded a bend that led to the Grey Wardens’ new home of Vigil’s Keep. It seemed smaller than she remembered; memories of a place seen as a child were always larger in the mind’s eye. It had been years since she had been here, the one time her father had brought his family to Amaranthine for some celebration or other. Ainslee remembered seeing the Howe family and several other nobles gathered in the yard, showing fealty to their liege lord. 

_Howe._ Ainslee fought the urge to growl audibly as she clenched her fists, the leather palms of her gauntlets groaning in response. The reaction would no doubt give her traveling companion pause, and the less Ainslee thought about the Howes, the better. Rendon Howe was dead thanks to her blade, their lands and fortunes forfeit. That was what she needed to remember.

The decision to walk from where the road leading to the fortress broke off from the Pilgrim’s Path had been a good one, Ainslee thought. The days on horseback from Denerim had made her legs and backside stiff and sore; she had spent too much time in Denerim of late, between recuperating after what was being called “The Battle of Denerim” to watching the small, intimate wedding ceremony between Anora and Alistair before their larger spectacle in front of the kingdom…

No, best not to go down that road too far. She was still trying to put the pieces of her broken heart together; Alistair’s anger and coldness toward her were both helpful and devastating. Distance between them would help her close that chapter of her life, Ainslee was sure of it.

“Warden Commander?”

With a shake of her head, Ainslee brought herself out of her reverie as she turned her attention to the young soldier next to her—Mahri, she had said her name was—sent by the seneschal to escort her to Vigil’s Keep. The blonde braid that fell down her back caught slightly on the edge of the armor covering her shoulders; she’d have to get that cut soon, or the ends would be a shaggy, ragged mess. “I’m sorry, I was lost in thought.” Ainslee saw the furrowed brow on Mahri’s face and felt her own lower in return. “What is it?”

“I expected a welcoming party for us,” she said, motioning toward the fortress ahead with a gesture of her hand. “I think something is wrong.”

The sound of snarling, gnashing teeth from within the fortress wall, followed by the screams of terror from a fleeing man, caused both women to quickly turn their heads toward the furor.

“Well, there’s your answer,” Ainslee said, pulling her sword and shield ahead of her as Mahri readied her own weapon. “I’m ready to spill some darkspawn blood, how ‘bout you?”

“Darkspawn?” Mahri gasped, her eyes wide as several stocky genlocks approached. 

“Nothing gets the blood flowing like battling darkspawn,” Ainslee said, rushing forward to greet the approaching creature. “Especially their blood!”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Well, I’ll be a nug’s uncle. That blighter down below was right; a talking darkspawn.”

Crouched down behind several crates on the fortress battlements, Ainslee turned to look at her friend Oghren. _So, this is where he disappeared to; leave it to him to sniff out the darkspawn._ “Always thought they were too stupid for speech,” he added.

The four of them were crouched behind a large crossbow mounted to the floor of the battlements that circled the main fortress. Darkspawn had been raining crossbow bolts down upon them as they had approached, and the bodies that had been impaled on the spikes at the bottom of the wall also indicated that they had been along the battlements until Ainslee and her companions had put a stop to it. From between the wooden beams of the crossbow, they could see several hurlocks surrounding prisoners that had been forced to their knees, and one larger, more ornately armored darkspawn that appeared to be the leader. Ainslee couldn’t make out what the raspy voice was saying, but it appeared to be speaking to the frightened prisoners.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” the mage, Anders, whispered. Ainslee nodded and chewed her bottom lip slightly. Encountering Anders down below had been a blessing; whether or not he was the wanted fugitive as he claimed could be debated later. At this point, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

“I thought I _had_ seen it all,” Ainslee said. “Definitely wasn’t anticipating talking darkspawn—”

She then gasped as the large, hurlock like creature picked up one of the prisoners by the neck, the man’s feet barely touching the ground as his fingers scrabbled against the hurlock’s grip in a desperate attempt to free himself. Before she could react, the hurlock threw the man over the edge, where the screams abruptly ended with a crunching thud from below.

“Move,” Ainslee ordered. “Quickly. Quietly.” She crept forward with her sword and shield in front of her. As they approached, the hurlock turned back toward the last human being held on his knees with another hurlock’s sword at his throat.

“Be taking this one gently,” the darkspawn said, “we wish no more death than necessary.”

The prisoner spat at the darkspawn. _“Necessary?”_ As if your kind has done anything else but bring death.”

Ainslee took a few more steps closer, hugging the wall of the fortress and keeping as low as possible. She placed herself behind the larger hurlock, using his body to block her movements from the other hurlock holding the human prisoner. With luck, she could distract them before they killed him.

“You are thinking that you know our kind, human? You do not, but that will soon be changed.”

“Then kill me if you must, creature,” the prisoner said, his eyes flicking toward Ainslee as he noticed her movement. “Others will come; they will stop you.”

The hurlock must have seen his gesture, as it turned and watched Ainslee and the others approach. “Your words be true, human. As you were guessing.”

“Holy shit!” Anders exclaimed as he began to prepare a spell. “It _does_ talk!”

Oghren lowered the front shield of his helmet over his face and spun his great axe in his hand. “Then let’s shut that blighter up.”

Ainslee brought her shield up and pointed her sword at the hurlocks. “Couldn’t agree more.”

“Capture the Grey Warden. The others, kill them.” The talking darkspawn motioned toward an area around the corner of the fortress, and two more genlocks appeared. The hurlock holding the human prisoner struck out at him with his armored forearm, the metal hitting the prisoner’s skull with a dull thud. The man’s eyes rolled back and showed the whites for a moment before he slumped to the ground. “The Withered calls you to fight!”

“Come get some,” Ainslee growled.

~~~~~~~~~~

“He’s alive, Warden Commander!”

Ainslee placed a foot on the chest of the dead hurlock at her feet, yanking her blade free. She quickly sheathed it and replaced her shield on her back as she ran over to where Anders knelt beside the injured man, an aura of blue light flowing between them. Ainslee watched as the man’s eyes fluttered before slowly opening. His gaze seemed to be far away for a moment before focusing on Anders.

“Welcome back,” the mage said.

“Help me up.”

Anders laid a gentle hand on the man’s chest. “Whoa, not so fast. That hurlock rang your bell pretty good. You’ll probably be dizzy and sick to your stomach for a bit, so take it slow.”

“Duly noted,” the man said, allowing Anders to help him to a sitting position, where he groaned and rubbed the knot on his head. They paused for a moment before he nodded and Anders pulled him to his feet. Ainslee thought he might topple over, but he held his ground and turned his attention to her.

“Warden Commander, my name is Varel. I am the seneschal of Vigil’s Keep and most grateful for your timely rescue,” he said, holding out his hand; she gripped his forearm and gave it a shake. Varel carried a large sword on his back and wore silverite chain mail that was nearly the same shade of silver as his collar length hair and the stubble that dotted his face. His voice was gravelly, but not unpleasant, and lent an air of calm wisdom to his words. His brown eyes were far lighter than her own dark ones, with small lines in the skin around them.

“Ainslee Cousland. What happened here?”

“The darkspawn decided to pay us a visit,” Varel said, motioning out toward the courtyard of Vigil’s Keep. Ainslee followed his motion and saw the bodies that dotted the ground—darkspawn, Grey Wardens, and the people who lived and worked for them. “There are survivors hidden away in some of the outbuildings, but the Grey Wardens from Orlais… either dead or missing.”

“Well, shit,” Ainslee said, gently rubbing her forehead with the leather palm of her gauntlet. “That’s likely to cause some trouble.”

“Unfortunately, that’s a possibility. The Empress of Orlais wasn’t pleased when her Grey Wardens were stopped at the border during the Blight,” Varel said. He looked out beyond the outer walls of the fortress, his eyes squinting. “We’ll have to speak more on that later, Commander. It appears that we have guests approaching. With luck, they'll be more hospitable than our previous guests.”

“Guests?” She looked out toward the main gate and saw a small group of figures approaching. A majority of them were dressed in heavy armor, the silver glinting in the sunlight that managed to break through the clouds overhead. The figure at the head of the group also wore heavy armor, mostly silver but with bits of gold in the chestplate and pauldrons. 

She knew that walk.

“Hey! Chantry Boy!”

Ainslee turned to see Oghren bellowing toward the approaching group, his arm waving madly above him. The golden armored figure looked in their direction before lifting a hand in greeting.

Ainslee’s blood grew cold in her veins.

~~~~~~~~~~

The ground was soft under Ainslee’s knee as she knelt down between Varel and Anders, her eyes focused on the armored foot in front of her. Maybe if I don’t look him in the eye, he won’t be real.

“Warden Commander Cousland. Rise.”

_Shit._

She stood and looked into the eyes of the King. They were cold, angry eyes… much the same as they had appeared when she last saw them in Denerim. She steeled herself. “King Alistair.”

“Well, it looks like we arrived a bit too late to be much help. That’s too bad; I really enjoyed the darkspawn killing thing. Who’d have thought I would have enjoyed that rather than being King?” He broke eye contact with her and looked toward Varel. “What’s the situation here?”

Ainslee ground her teeth together and clenched her fists. He just couldn’t stop twisting the knife, could he?

“King Alistair, I’m Seneschal Varel. What darkspawn remained have fled, however the Grey Wardens from Orlais are either dead or missing. We will see to the survivors here and inform you if we have located any of the Wardens.”

“Well, at least you have the _Hero of Ferelden_ here, so that’s something, eh?” Alistair returned his gaze to Ainslee. “A word?”

Ainslee looked toward where Varel and Anders stood nearby. Varel raised a brow as if to ask a silent question, but she simply shook her head and motioned off to the side. “After you, Your Majejsty.”

As they stepped away, Ainslee heard one of Alistair’s soldiers speaking to Varel about “a dangerous criminal,” but brought her attention to Alistair as he stopped and turned to face her.

“Don’t you want to hear about my blushing bride? About how my job at being King is going?”

Ainslee sighed. “Are we going to go through this, _again?_ As I said before, it had to be done to keep the kingdom united.”

“To solidify Anora’s position on the throne with a Theirin, you mean.”

“I know you didn’t want to be the King; you don’t know the first thing about being a ruler, but she does. As I recall, you were quick to make me the ‘leader’ when Duncan recruited me.”

Alistair pointed off into the distance, presumably in the direction of Denerim. “You condemned me to life with her instead of you! Didn’t you even think about my feelings?”

“Of course I did, don’t be an ass! I _wanted_ to be with you, but Anora wasn’t going to be second to a mistress and I wasn't ready to _be_ a mistress. It was part of the deal—”

He crossed his arms over his chest, the metal on metal contact making a small thud. “Oh, a deal? Like haggling for a nice side of beef at a butcher.”

“And it broke my heart to do it. You’re the King now; you have duties, including producing an heir—”

“Ugh,” he said with disgust.

“It’s best that we focus on our duties now. Our time together is over.”

“You’re right,” Alistair said, his voice hard. “It is. Goodbye, Warden Commander.” He turned on his heel and returned to his soldiers. Ainslee turned and moved off toward what she hoped was the main hall of Vigil’s Keep, Alistair’s voice fading into the distance behind her.

“I’d really like to help fight the darkspawn, Seneschal Varel, but you’re on your own for the time being. You’ve got the Hero of Ferelden with you, so if there’s nothing else, I’ll be taking my leave...”

~~~~~~~~~~

The Vigil’s dining hall was blissfully empty as Ainslee entered, tankard in one hand and bottle of ale in the other. She had a simple goal for the evening: get drunk. Not only had Alistair once again twisted a knife in her heart and gut, but Mahri hadn’t survived her joining. She had been so eager to be a Grey Warden…

Ainslee flopped down into the chair at the head of the table—her chair, as the Warden Commander—and filled her tankard to the point where the ale threatened to slosh over the side. She leaned forward and slurped up the nearly overflowing ale, the coolness of it soothing her dry mouth. “You’re not getting away from me. No spills. Won’t get drunk that way.”

Footsteps echoed in the doorway as she swallowed a large mouthful of the liquid. The steps paused, then began to approach. She sighed heavily, not wanting to be the Warden Commander at the moment. She had other priorities.

“Commander?” The gravelly voice sounded wary as it spoke.

“Seneschal Varel,” she said, taking another drink of the ale. “Something wrong?”

“No, Commander. I… wanted to see if everything was all right. You seemed… troubled… at the King’s presence.”

She motioned to a seat to her left as she twisted in her own and threw a leg over the arm of the chair. “We have… history.”

Varel sat in the chair and rested his forearms on the tabletop. He had removed his chain mail and wore a simple tunic and trousers, revealing a body that was much more lithe than Ainslee had thought; armor always seemed to make people appear larger than they were.

She motioned to the bottle of ale. “I don’t have a second tankard, but you’re welcome to join me.”

He shook his head. “I would normally accept, but that darkspawn did a number on my head. Best that I pass tonight.”

“Fair enough,” Ainslee said, taking another draw. “So, how long have you been the seneschal here?”

“This is my second appointment as seneschal,” Varel said as he knotted his fingers together on top of the table. “I was appointed by the Orlesian Grey Wardens when they arrived.”

“And the first time?”

Varel paused for a moment, his expression slightly pinched. “I was seneschal to Arl Howe for a time.”

Ainslee felt her brow furrow as she took another drink of ale. “Hmph. You served Rendon Howe? You do know what that bastard did to my family?”

“I do.”

She leveled a finger at him. “So, why should I have you as my seneschal for one second more? How can I trust that you don’t have the same ambitions as Rendon Howe now that he’s gone? In fact, why shouldn’t I just run you through with my sword?”

Varel raised a brow as he looked at her. “Arl Howe and I… didn’t see eye to eye on most things. I was demoted.”

“For what?”

“For telling him things he didn’t want to hear, like the truth. For objecting to his orders.”

“What orders?”

Varel sat back in his chair, a hand rubbing the stubble on his chin. “Arl Howe had spies throughout Ferelden, watching his enemies as well as making sure his vassals were loyal to him. He had plotted assassinations of his enemies, both real and perceived, for some time and I had objected, pointing out that his own liege lords—your father or King Cailan, for example—would not take kindly to brazen power plays. He also wanted to raise taxes on his vassals in order to pay for his spies. I objected one too many times and found myself demoted. Escort duty; I suspect it was to remove me from Arl Howe’s sight.”

“Were you seneschal when he attacked Highever?”

Varel shook his head. “No, I wasn’t. I was escorting Bann Esmerelle back to her estate in Amaranthine. I heard about it when I returned to the Vigil.” He reached forward and touched her hand lightly. “I am truly sorry for what happened to you and yours.”

“Thank you.” She fought back tears as she took several large mouthfuls of ale from her tankard. “What else?”

“His spies later found out that your brother was alive and with the Chasind. He ordered me, through his new seneschal, to pay the assassins that were meant for your brother.” He looked at her with a raised brow. “Sadly,” he said, his voice taking on an acerbic tone, “we were ambushed on the road between the Vigil and the crossroads where we were to meet them. It was a shame, really, that all that gold that went missing.”

Ainslee’s brow lifted. “Where did that gold _really_ go?”

Varel shrugged. “To the people. To those that suffered under Howe’s taxes and tariffs. To those that had to flee so that they could start a new life elsewhere. Eventually, Howe stopped sending me on escort duty.”

He paused for a moment before speaking again. “This arling—no, the world—is a better place without Rendon Howe in it. I bear no loyalty to him or what he stood for. Allow me to prove this to you. My only ambition is to see this arling and the Grey Wardens—and you—succeed. My heart belongs to Amaranthine and I wish to see it rise above Rendon Howe’s legacy.”

“Well, words are nothing but wind, as my father would say.” She leaned forward, looking Varel deep in his eyes. “Show me.”


	2. Chapter 2

“You really do need more comfortable chairs in your office. Maybe I should check in with the Merchants’ Guild about getting some.”

“Warden Commander,” Varel sighed. He rolled his eyes but Ainslee watched as a grin nearly spread across the seneschal’s face; he took great pains to hide it. Such was the relationship that had developed between them over the last few months. He had a wry, if somewhat dry, sense of humor that she found endlessly endearing. The deep timbre of his voice only made it more so. “If you would, perhaps, sit in the chair like a normal person, it would be more comfortable.”

“This is normal for me,” Ainslee protested. One leg was slung over the armrest while the small of her back rested against the other. “The chair just needs a little more padding. And how many times have I told you that you can use my name?" _I just want to hear him say it outside of an introduction..._

Varel put the quill he had been writing with down. “Commander, if I start calling you by your first name, what precedent will that set for the other Wardens?”

“The others already call me by my first name… well, except for Nathaniel; he still refers to me as ‘my father’s killer’ when he’s feeling salty.”

“Duly noted,” Varel said as he picked up the quill and dipped it into the inkpot nearby. “Mistress Woolsey is pleased that the Grey Wardens have helped secure the Pilgrim’s Path between Amaranthine and Denerim. Trade is already beginning to flow.”

“The Merchant’s Guild is having to pay out less to the mercenary companies hired to escort trade caravans. Hopefully, they can put that savings to good use in reopening businesses here.”

Varel scratched a few names onto the parchment in front of him before setting the quill aside. “The other Wardens… they seem to be recuperating well from your recent battles.”

A shiver went through Ainslee’s body, though she wasn’t cold. She and the other Wardens had had their fill of darkspawn of late and none of them were particularly eager to engage them again. They had delved deep into the cellars below the Vigil and, to their surprise, had found an entrance to the Deep Roads, one used by the darkspawn for their incursion into the Vigil when Ainslee had first arrived. With Voldrick Glavonak’s help, they had repaired and sealed the triple set of barrier doors, assuring relative safety from a future darkspawn attack emanating from the tunnels. Ainslee had given Voldrick another item for his to-do list: find a way to build a stronger, more permanent barrier. In recent days, the guards posted at the door had heard sounds beyond the barrier, but no direct attacks upon it.

More recently, as part of their task to rebuild trade routes in the arling, Ainslee and the Grey Wardens had traveled into the Wending Wood to clean out bandit camps and push back the darkspawn that had taken up residence there. They had found their newest Grey Warden, Velanna, and something Ainslee found far more disturbing.

The Architect.

“Commander, are you all right?”

“Huh?” Ainslee brought her attention up from the parchment she had been staring at. “Um… I wish I could say yes, but—”

“Warden Commander Cousland? Seneschal Varel?”

Both looked toward the door, where one of Captain Garevel’s guards saluted them. “The nobles are approaching the Vigil. They’ll be at the gates in a few moments.”

Ainslee and Varel stood, and she heard a deep sigh from the seneschal. “Well, Commander, it’s time to meet your vassals.”

“Anything in particular that I should know?” She had chosen to remain in simple attire for the meeting, leaving Varel and Gareval adorned in heavy armor. Rather than choosing a gown, she chose a simple but finely made velvet tunic and doeskin trousers with knee high boots and a scarf of ermine. She did, however, have her scabbard belted at her waist; her mother would have been both horrified and unsurprised.

“There are those that bore no love for the Howes, for one reason or another,” Varel said as he led Ainslee from his chancery toward the main hall. Several members of the Vigil’s staff were making sure the fireplaces were lit while others were setting flagons of wine and water out for the guests. “Others had tied their prospects to the Howes and found themselves all but ruined with his demise.” He paused for a moment and looked at her with an expression of concern. “They will have no love for you.”

“I understand,” Ainslee nodded. She paused, looking down toward the floor for a moment before lifting her gaze to meet his eyes. “I would very much appreciate you being at my side during the ceremony. I’ve seen my father accept the fealty of his nobles before, but it’s much different from this point of view.”

A smile spread across his face. “I certainly will be at your side, Commander, have no doubts about that.”

She rolled her eyes and returned his grin. “All right, you can call me ‘Commander’ while the nobles are here, but please consider calling me by my name at other times.”

He chuckled low. “I make no promises.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Varel stood next to the Warden Commander—he couldn’t bring himself to call her Ainslee as of yet—as they awaited the arrival of the arling’s nobility. He worked to keep his face neutral and not betray the concerns he had for the Commander and what she could potentially face. The fact that she had killed Rendon Howe had certainly endeared himself to her, and several of the visiting nobles would also privately thank her for doing the deed.

Others, however… he would have to be certain that they didn’t carry knives in which to stab her in the back, literally and figuratively.

“Garevel,” Varel said, his voice low as not to attract attention. “Be sure to keep a close eye on the Commander.”

“Do you suspect something?”

“They’re nobility,” Varel said with a small shrug. “I always suspect something.”

Varel watched as the Commander smoothed out her scarf and adjusted the scabbard at her waist. He found her to be easy going when among the familiar confines of the Vigil, yet politely formal when out in the arling or Amaranthine, much as would be expected of one raised in the nobility. Diplomatic affairs still intimidated her, even after her exploits during the Blight; being the second born of a high ranking family, she wouldn’t have been trained in such matters. More than likely, she had been groomed to be married off as part of an alliance. 

The travails of the Blight and civil war had imparted a degree of wisdom in her that wasn’t often found in one of her age and experience. Her circumstances could have turned her bitter, but instead seemed to reinforce… life. The other Wardens got on with her well; even the surly Nathaniel was slowly letting his guard down around her. Varel, too, found her a pleasant arlessa and commander, eager to ensure the arling was safe and that the decision to grant it to the Grey Wardens had been the right one. 

_This place has changed,_ he thought. _For the better._

He still worried about her though. The battles fought with the nobility were far more subtle than those she had found among mercenaries, criminals, or the darkspawn. He promised himself that he would do everything he could to help her navigate those perils, not only because he was her seneschal, but because he genuinely wanted her to succeed. She had to succeed.

There was a knock on the main door entering the hall. Varel stepped closer to the Warden Commander, who turned her head slightly toward him and sighed. “And so it begins.”

“Tread carefully, Commander.”

~~~~~~~~~~

For once, none of the nobles were “fashionably late,” and for that, Varel was grateful. This whole affair could be wrapped up expeditiously, which was a rare occurrence in his experience. The nobles had come forward, one by one, to pledge themselves to the Arlessa and promised to aid her when called upon. He listened to each one, making mental notes as to what needed to be discussed with the Commander later.

“Of course I remember you, Lord Eddelbreck,” Varel heard the Commander say, “you and my father took my brother and me on a hayride as we toured your orchards. It was a lovely day for it and I remember it fondly.”

Varel watched as Bann Esmerelle, who stood nearby with Lady Liza Packton and several other nobles from the city, scoffed openly at Eddelbreck when he mentioned the darkspawn threat to the farms. “Your mud hovels can be rebuilt,” she said with her usual haughty tone. “Amaranthine is the precious jewel in the crown of the arling; it cannot be replaced.”

“Bann Esmerelle, I—”

The Commander held up a hand, effectively silencing Varel as he stood next to her. She turned and gave him a small smile before speaking to the Bann. “Why would you say that?”

“It’s only pragmatic. Amaranthine was built over _generations._ Its stature and importance cannot be understated. The arling would be severely diminished if the city fell.”

The Commander held up a finger at the retort that Eddelbreck was clearly forming based on his agitated stance. “What would happen, Bann Esmerelle, if those farms were suddenly abandoned? Or if the darkspawn spread the Blight to the land? Empty hovels grow no food… no food for trade and no food for those of us that live in the arling.” 

“I hardly think that would come to pass, Commander,” Esmerelle said. “There is plenty of land to farm.”

The Commander paused for a moment, her expression at first sad, then angry. “I’ve seen what the darkspawn and the Blight do to the land. Trust me, Bann Esmerelle, you don’t want that. The arling would see famines for years. Every bit of grass within and around Amaranthine would have to be turned into cropland, and it _still_ wouldn’t be nearly enough to feed everyone. Lord Eddelbreck.” 

“Yes, Warden Commander?”

“You shall have whatever resources we can spare to ensure the arling’s farms are safe. Food needs to be a priority, with trade just behind it.”

“Warden Commander,” Lady Liza said, stepping forward to stand next to Esmerelle. “Arl Howe would have—”

Varel watched as the Commander clenched her jaw and turned toward Liza Packton and Esmerelle beside her. “I do not _care_ what Arl Howe would have done. Arl Howe is dead; his ambitions are dead. The Grey Wardens have been given jurisdiction of this arling and, as Arlessa, my word is final. We will do everything we can to see this arling thrive, and you are welcome to discuss any ideas or suggestions with myself or Seneschal Varel. You are _not_ welcome, however, to mention that name in my presence again; it’s personal, you see.”

A part of Varel was secretly pleased at the Commander’s retort to Liza and Esmerelle. Bann Esmerelle was always a little too high and mighty for his liking, constantly looking down her nose at those living outside the city, and seeing her brought down a notch was satisfying. However, another part of Varel grew concerned at the way the Bann’s eyes narrowed and her expression grew dark as the Commander spoke to Lady Liza. _She could be trouble,_ he thought to himself. _It probably wouldn’t hurt to have Garevel’s men keep their eyes and ears open in Amaranthine. I can do so here._

Bann Esmerelle wrapped an arm around Lady Liza’s and gave the Commander a chilly smile. “Of course, Warden Commander. We are your humble servants. Come, Liza, let us go speak to Lady Morag and Lord Guy; it’s been an age since I’ve seen them.”

As they walked off, Varel leaned toward the Commander’s ear. “Careful with that one. You likely didn’t endear yourself to her.”

The Commander turned her head toward Varel. He caught a trace of the scent that she wore, reminiscent of the irises that grew throughout parts of Ferelden; they grew throughout the Vigil as well. It was a comforting scent and he found that it suited her well. “I don’t need her to like me, but I need her to respect me as Arlessa and Commander of the Grey Wardens. Mentioning Arl Howe to me doesn’t endear me to her either.”

“Fair enough.”

The Warden Commander moved through the crowd of nobles, stopping to chat with each for several moments. Varel and Garevel remained near the dais on the far side of the room, watching over the gathering and exchanging talk about their observations. All in all, Varel thought to himself, it was as uneventful as he had hoped, despite the words between the Commander and her vassals. He watched as the Commander wound her way toward the dais; not far away, but following, was a blonde woman with small braids in her hair. Varel stepped forward as the Commander approached.

“Warden Commander?,” the woman said. “May I have a word?”

She turned to face the woman approaching, one that Varel recognized.

“And you are?”

“Ser Tamra, Warden Commander. I’ve come to warn you.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The interior of the Vigil was finally quiet, with all the nobles having left for either their homes or accommodations within their encampments. Garevel stood outside the chancery door with another of the Vigil’s guards, while the Grey Wardens took turns patrolling the exterior of the fortress.

“Do you believe her?” Commander Ainslee asked. Varel looked to her as she stood at the mantle above the fireplace, watching the flames inside. They imparted a glow onto her face and highlighted strands of her braided hair. Despite the look of consternation on her face, she was a pleasing sight.

“Ser Tamra can be a slippery one,” Varel answered. “Though her claims that several of the nobles seek to end your rule here would be within her realm of knowledge.”

“I’m flattered that they’ve decided to spend so much coin on ousting me rather than helping others in the arling,” she said. She moved from the fireplace to the chair across from Varel’s desk. This time, however, she sat in the chair properly. It concerned him.

“If it’s coin that’s spearheading this conspiracy, then Bann Esmerelle cannot be ruled out,” Varel said, pointing to a map of the regions of the arling that he had spread out on the top of his desk. “She is the richest vassal by far and it’s no secret that she and Arl Howe were friendly to one another. Those that were friendly to the Bann were likely Howe’s allies as well.”

The room grew quiet and Varel could almost feel the Commander’s rage building as she clenched her hands into fists. She sat there, fists shaking for a moment before she reached up and grabbed a metal cup off the corner of his desk and hurled it at the floor. It landed with a large clatter, bouncing once and rolling in a lazy circle before stopping completely. She sighed heavily before leaning forward to drop her elbows on his desk, her head down and shoulders slumping.

“I’m sorry, Varel. It’s just… when I hear Rendon Howe’s name… I lose perspective. It’s hard to think of him in any other way but the traitorous, murdering bastard he was. I… don’t think I can ever get past that.”

Varel paused, then reached out with a tentative hand and set it on hers. “There’s no need to apologize. I cannot imagine what that is like for you, nor blame you for having a visceral reaction to his name.” He paused for a moment, squeezing her hand before continuing. “We will have to watch his former allies. I will do everything in my power to ensure that no harm comes to you.”

In that moment, his heart heavy as he shared her loss, he realized that something had begun to stir in him. Her presence soothed him; he wanted to smile when she said his name, and he anxiously awaited for her return whenever she left the Vigil. Would she find such a thing improper? She _was_ his commander...

The thought fizzled as he felt her squeeze his hand back. She met his gaze and gave him a small smile. “Thank you, Varel.” She held his hand for a moment longer, her thumb lightly caressing his skin, then withdrew it, brushing the end of her braid back behind her head. Her cheeks had taken on a rosy hue. “It’s so much easier dealing with the darkspawn, even the talking ones. At least I know what the Architect wants—to free his brethren. The nobility are a different matter entirely. I wish I was more adept at dealing with them; Fergus was the diplomat, not me.”

Varel leaned back in his chair. “I had been worried for the Grey Wardens when you went to investigate the Wending Wood and the silverite mine. Hearing how the Architect wants to use Grey Warden blood— _your_ blood—to free the darkspawn… it’s madness.”

“I agree,” she said, leaning back and throwing a leg over the arm of the chair. Varel felt a bit of relief at the gesture; she was relaxing, and it was a good thing to see in the aftermath of the day’s events. “The Architect claims that he doesn’t wish to be our enemy. I’m not quite sure how that will work out, since the goal of the Grey Wardens is to protect the world against the Blight and the darkspawn incursions.” She reached down to pick the cup up off the floor and poured water into it from the pitcher Varel kept on his desk, taking a long drink before settling back in the chair again. “Perhaps that’s why the deep cellar under the Vigil is so quiet.”

“It doesn’t explain why the darkspawn keep attacking the outlying settlements,” Varel said as he tapped the map of the arling near Lord Eddlebreck’s lands. “Didn’t you say that you had found one of the Orlesian Wardens in the mines? What was it he said?”

“That the other Wardens were dead or worse.”

“Do you think the incursions are the ‘or worse’ part?”

She shivered in her seat, looking down into her cup of water as she was quiet for a moment. “I hope not. I can’t imagine what ‘or worse’ means.” After a moment, she drained the last of the water from her cup and reached forward to pour another one, filling a second one for Varel as she did so. “Back to the scheming nobles. What do you suggest we do?”

Varel took a drink from the cup she had filled. “Well, best to be a touch paranoid than face down in a ditch. The right of high justice is yours, and treachery is a capital offence, but we need proof. That won’t be easy to gather.”

She leaned forward, moving her leg off the arm of the chair and placing her forearms on the desk. “How do we gather it then?”

“There are options, some I can recommend, but others could turn the nobles fierce. Not sure we want that.”

“Well,” she said with a wry grin, “better men have tried to stop me before… look where they are now.”

Varel chuckled and watched as her grin turned into a smile. “Loghain and half the kingdom tried to stop you last time. I supposed there’s little to worry about.” He paused and felt his brow wrinkle and a knot form in his stomach. “Still, I do.” 

He caught her gaze and saw her look away, almost shyly, before she reached forward and grasped his hand again. “I know.”


	3. Chapter 3

_Bed._

__

__

_Bed now._

It was an hour or so before sunset when the Grey Wardens returned from their latest excursion in the city of Amaranthine. Smugglers were once again trying to establish a foothold within the city, making not so subtle threats toward the Merchants Guild. Mervis had grown a bit of a spine since Ainslee had first met him and was working with the city guard to keep trade above board. Still, the Wardens and the city guard needed to get involved to remind those who would attempt to restart smuggling exactly who was in charge.

More distressing to Ainslee, however, were the rumors regarding certain nobles longing to remove her as arlessa, permanently. At first, she was willing to dismiss it as mostly talk among them while still being cautious. Over the past few months, it had been a rumor here or an overheard conversation there, but recent events had changed her mind.

Set Tamra had turned up in a ditch with her throat slashed.

Garevel had put guards on the case with the Wardens lending support. They had spent part of the day searching for the prime suspect before setting out for the Vigil; Ser Temmerly the Ox was pinned down with two of his men in one of the abandoned shacks just outside the city walls. Ainslee wanted to be sure her face was seen in the investigation; she would show them that she wasn't intimidated, and the bodies of three of Temmerly’s minions who had resisted arrest were a testament to that. Still, the work was exhausting, and between conspiracies, smuggling, darkspawn, and demons—that pride demon in the Blackmarsh, how could she forget that?—she was ready to crawl into bed and stay there for a week. At least.

Right now, though, she'd settle for a meal.

As she entered the main hall, she saw that a fire had been built at the far end where a small sitting area had been set aside near several large bookshelves. The fire looked warm and inviting, and it was a much shorter distance to one of the large, overstuffed chairs than it would be to her quarters across the Vigil. She undid the straps holding her pauldrons in place as she made a beeline toward the chair. _Just a short rest there._

A figure stood from one of the chairs as she approached, their face in shadow as they were backlit by the fire. From the figure, Ainslee could tell that it was Varel and a tired smile crossed her face.

“Were you waiting long?”

He set the book aside that he had been holding in his hand, then tugged his tunic into place. “The bird from Amaranthine said you and the others had left early this morning. I had hoped you’d be back today.” He stepped forward and helped Ainslee with the stubborn buckle at the side of her breastplate, and she smiled at him in thanks.

Varel pulled the leather straps free of their buckles. “The message on the bird was short, but you have news on the conspiracy?”

“Ser Tamra was found with her throat slashed,” Ainslee said with a sigh. “Ser Temmerly the Ox is the suspect, as he and several of his lackeys were spotted near the scene with blood on them. A handful of them attacked us.”

“And they are?”

“Dead. There was no reasoning with them. Garevel’s men have the last of them pinned down; he insisted that we ride for the Vigil.” She sighed with relief as the last of her armor had been removed from her upper body and set on the floor next to one of the chairs. With an exaggerated sigh, she plopped down into the nearest chair, but didn’t throw her leg over the side as it was still armored; no sense in tearing holes in the fabric.

She looked up at Varel and saw a deep frown on his face. “There’s a part of me that wished—foolishly, probably—that my deeds at the Battle of Denerim would garner more support from these vassals. That maybe the goodwill would have lasted a little longer.” She leaned forward and placed her head in her hands for a moment. “Bah, I’m an idealistic fool.”

Varel sat in the chair across from her, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs. “There will always be people that feel that they deserve more, and they’ll try to take advantage of any power vacuum. Some hitched their wagons to the old arl, hoping that any power that came to him would trickle down to them. Perhaps they’re jealous of the Cousland girl who was raised as the daughter of a teyrn, never meant to rule in her own stead. Now, she’s the arlessa of an arling that was given to the Grey Wardens and not one of their own. Maybe they feel the Couslands are too powerful now.”

“Do you think that way?”

“Not at all,” he said. “You have the support of your Wardens, many of your vassals… and me.”

She pulled her head up from her hands and saw a warm smile on his face, one she couldn’t help but return. “I cannot express enough how much that means to me.”

“You have my support… now, and always.”

“Hey, Ainslee,” a voice called out from across the hall. Ainslee leaned over to the side and saw Oghren in the doorway leading to the small dining area that the Wardens used when there were no guests at the Vigil. “Get over here. Sparkle-fingers just claimed that he could drink me under the table. I’m going to prove his manskirt wearing ass wrong, and you need to watch so you can verify it tomorrow.”

Ainslee watched Varel roll his eyes and hold out a hand; she grabbed it and allowed him to pull her to her feet. “Try to keep the broken cups to a minimum,” he said with a grin.

“It’s Oghren,” Ainslee scoffed. “I’ll do my best.”

~~~~~~~~~~

With her stomach both full with dinner and sore from laughing at Anders’ and Oghren’s contest, Ainslee found her way to the sitting room attached to her bedchamber. Anders had put up a valiant fight, going cup to cup with Oghren for what seemed like a half dozen before he suddenly ran from the table and out of the room.

“If I haven’t told him once,” Oghren had said, with slurred words and a shaky finger pointing into the air in front of his face, “I told him a hundred times, don’t play with fire ‘less you wanna get burned.” He belched loudly as he had finished, then caught what Ainslee thought was a retch. That was her cue to bid the Wardens good night and head for her chambers. Cleaning up vomit wasn’t part of her duties as Warden Commander.

As she entered the door to her quarters, a soft orange glow from the fireplace and wall lanterns brightened the space, lending a cozy feel to her sitting room. The fire was a little larger than she thought; one of the servants had likely been by earlier to set it for her. Her sword and armor had been brought to her quarters and set on its stand, wiped clean of the dirt and detritus. That was a job she hadn’t been looking forward to upon her return to the Vigil; whoever had done that was going to get a bear hug from their Commander.

She stepped toward the overstuffed chair and small side table near the fire, her attention on the small items that had been left there. There was a carved wooden cup, a plate covered by a small cloth, and a book. Curious, she sat in the chair and examined each one. The cup was filled with a dark liquid; a sip revealed it to be mulled wine. The cloth hid a small piece of honey cake and a fork which she eagerly used to take a bite of the cake. As she chewed, she picked up the last items on the table, a book and a folded piece of paper on top. The book— _Darktown’s Deal,_ by an up-and-coming author named Varric Tethras—looked fairly new, with only a small amount of creasing along the spine. She set the book aside and opened the folded piece of paper.

_Simple pleasures can often soothe one’s soul. Enjoy - V_

Her heart seemed to skip a beat and a smile spread across Ainslee’s face as she folded the paper. It was a touching gesture, one that made her throat tighten slightly and her eyes mist. Setting the paper to the side, she spent a few moments finishing the wine and honey cake while her thoughts danced in her head. When she was done, she picked up the book and note and moved into her bed chamber, where she changed into her long nightgown. The book was placed on the table next to her bed, the note tucked under her pillow.

Perhaps her dreams would be different tonight.

~~~~~~~~~~

It had been an uneventful ranging mission around the Vigil. The group of Grey Wardens—Ainslee, Oghren, Anders, and Sigrun—had conducted a wide patrol around the perimeter of the fortress, far enough away for it to be a hike back if they had to make a beeline toward it, but close enough to have the fortress within sight. The weather had been sunny and pleasant, their sight unhindered by clouds or mist, and their darkspawn senses had remained silent. Perhaps the worst was behind them.

“How ya feeling today, Sparkle-fingers?” Oghren chuckled.

“Stop shouting,” Anders said, wincing at the sun. Ainslee could see that, despite his rejuvenation spell, Anders was still feeling the effects of the previous evening’s contest. 

“That’ll teach you not to play with fire.”

Sigrun giggled. “But Anders is a mage… he’s always playing with fire.”

“You know what I meant, duster.”

It was close to midday when the Wardens began their trek back toward the fortress, their chatter growing quiet as a hum in the distance grew louder as they approached the Vigil’s walls. Ainslee felt her brow lower and her pace quicken as the hum became a discordant jumble of voices. As they rounded a corner and entered the gates of the Vigil, she saw several of the guards moving at a quick pace toward the main hall.

“What’s going on?” she asked one of the guards stationed near the gate.

“A crowd of peasants pushed their way through here while you were on patrol, Commander. Guard Captain Garevel and Seneschal Varel are trying to talk them down, but the crowd is getting rowdy.”

“Should I start busting heads?” Oghren asked.

“Not yet,” Ainslee said, moving at a jog toward the crowd of people gathered at the steps to the main hall, her level of concern growing as she saw that many of them were armed. She gently made her way along the outskirts of the crowd, with some shouting louder as they spotted her while others drew weapons. Making her way up the steps, she stopped between Varel and Garevel and held her hands up to quiet the crowd. “What’s going on here?”

“The darkspawn are near the city!”

“You can see the darkspawn from the city walls, but you send no one to protect us!”

“You have to protect us!”

“Things are quickly getting out of hand, Commander,” Garevel said. “They all came as a group a short while ago. As you can see, they’re armed.”

Varel leaned in closer to Ainslee. “I recognize several of these people as acquaintances of Ser Temmerly the Ox and Lady Liza Packton. I fear the conspirators are behind this. If these people rose up on their own, I’ll eat the leather from my boots. Speak to them, see if you can get them to listen to reason.” 

“You don’t coddle revolts, you put them down,” Garevel growled, but acquiesced. 

Ainslee turned toward Varel. “What makes you think the conspirators are behind it?”

Varel jerked a thumb behind him. “You’ve got visitors.”

“Well, shit.” Ainslee stepped forward, placing two of her fingers in her mouth and giving a loud whistle. The shouting ebbed, but a low rumble of voices continued. “Everyone, we need to stand together…”

“Bullshit! You’re supposed to protect us!” 

“Shut up and let the Commander speak!”

“I will protect you and yours,” Ainslee said, her gaze meeting the eyes of a number of the people. “If the Vigil falls, the city will be less safe. If you turn on our soldiers, you’ll be less safe. We’ve—”

The de facto leader of the group stepped forward, a short sword in his hand. “Your words are empty! We have to take the Keep and order the soldiers to protect us!”

“You do that,” Ainslee said, “and you’ll endanger us all! Spill blood here today, and it won’t stop until the darkspawn win.”

“No,” several people said to the leader, sheathing their weapons. “What the Commander said makes sense. She knows the darkspawn. We’re going home.” They turned and made for the gates.

“Wait,” the leader called out as he followed the dispersing people. “We need to take the Keep… so we can protect ourselves…” His words faded as he realized that there would be no riot today. With a withering glance toward Ainslee, he stomped off.

“Well done, Commander,” Garevel said, sheathing his sword. “I’ll order my men to stand down.”

Ainslee looked to Varel, who nodded. “Truly well done.” 

She felt her face flush and a smile crossed her face. It seemed to please him, as he smiled along with her for a moment before his face became stern once more. “Before this rabble started, several of the nobles were here waiting for you in the hall. Shall we see what they want?”

“I think we may already know the answer,” Ainslee said, leading the way into the hall. At first, it appeared to be nearly empty, with just a couple of men looking at the pictures that hung on the wall. As Ainslee, Varel, and Garevel stepped in, Bann Esmerelle emerged from around one of the pillars that held up the vaulted ceiling. Further in, Ainslee watched as Lord Guy, Lady Morag, Lady Liza Packton, and a handful others also appeared.

Armed and armored.

“Bann Esmerelle,” Ainslee said. “I suppose you don’t have any idea why there were a rabble of peasants outside my door, demanding protection, do you?”

“They just wanted protection like the good Arl had provided… the Arl that _you_ murdered.”

Ainslee took a step forward. “And I’d do it again.”

Esmerelle drew her weapon. “Rendon Howe was good to us… good to me. I will avenge him.”

Ainslee felt herself shoved from behind, where she nearly lost her balance in an effort to stay on her feet. There was a quick twang and hiss from behind one of the pillars, followed by the whistle of a projectile flying past her. Ainslee turned back toward where she had been standing and saw a long crossbow bolt loosely penetrating the breastplate of Varel’s armor. Before he could remove it, a second bolt suddenly appeared in his wrist, penetrating all the way through the flesh so that the tip appeared on the other side. He stumbled and groaned before falling to the floor. 

_“Varel!”_

“Commander! Behind you!”

Ainslee whirled about and dodged away from Esmerelle’s sword as it swung down in an attempt to strike her. As the Bann prepared to swing again, Ainslee pulled her sword and shield. “You miss Rendon Howe so much… prepare to join him.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“Not even a fair fight… for the blighters, anyway.”

“‘Oooh, my name is Bann Esmerelle and I’ll _never_ bear arms against you.’ Blah, blah, blah.”

Ainslee heard Oghren, Sigrun, and Anders move about the fallen attackers. A few well placed cones of cold by Anders had allowed Oghren to smash the frozen attackers to frozen pulp, while Sigrun had moved amongst the shadows, where she stabbed and slashed the attackers almost at will. Oghren was right—despite their numbers, it was hardly a fair fight against the Grey Wardens.

There was, however, a more immediate matter. She looked into the eyes of Bann Esmerelle, who was impaled on Ainslee’s sword, her mouth moving silently as her bugged out eyes stared down at the weapon. Blood trickled from her mouth to land on the metal.

“Oh, I’m _so_ sorry, Esmerelle,” Ainslee said, bringing her forearm up to rest it against the bann’s chest. “Don’t you just _hate_ it when you misplace a sword by putting it into a traitor’s stomach? Such a shame.” Ainslee shoved Esmerelle backward, the sword pulling out of the flesh as the bann fell backward onto the floor, where she writhed weakly and held her arms over the wound in an effort to keep what was inside her body where it belonged.

__

__

_Varel!_

Ainslee whirled around, looking for Varel. Garevel had pulled him up against one of the pillars in the hall, where Varel stood with his back against it. She ran to his side, dropping her sword and shield as she reached him. His wrist was impaled by the arrow and bleeding freely. 

“Come on,” she said, gently placing her hand on the injured arm, “we need to get the bleeding stopped.”

“He’ll be fine, Commander,” Garevel said.

“I’ll see to it,” Ainslee said. “That damn riot was a cover for this… easy to blame a riot for the Warden Commander’s body being found with a bunch of dead rioters.”

“I’ve failed you,” Garevel said. “It won’t happen again. My most trusted men will get this cleaned up and keep Esmerelle and her lackeys’ involvement quiet.”

“No need… for panic…” Varel agreed, groaning as his arm moved slightly. Ainslee nodded at the Wardens, then moved Varel through the hall to a small infirmary near the kitchen. Once there, she gently removed his gauntlet and gasped at the amount of blood that had soaked through his shirt and pooled onto the metal.

“It’s just a scratch,” Varel said. When Ainslee met his gaze, he gave her a wink. “Truly, it looks worse than it really is.”

An examination of the bolt found a crack in the wood near the arrowhead. She positioned Varel’s forearm such that the cracked shaft and arrowhead rested over the edge of the table that held the bandages and healing herbs. She grabbed a cleaning brush from nearby and used it to put pressure on the crack, which gave way and sent the arrowhead clattering to the floor. The sound almost covered the grunt of pain as she carefully drew the bolt back through the hole.

“I’m so sorry,” Ainslee said, her throat feeling tight. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t,” he said, his voice soft in the space between them. He grabbed a bandage from a small alcove above the table and pressed it to the wound as she mixed several herbs in a pestle, ground them with the mortar, then added a dash of honey to it before applying them to a cloth and pressing it to Varel’s wrist.

“I didn’t know you were an herbalist.”

She chuckled slightly. “I’m really not. Wynne from the Circle taught me a little during the Blight. I only picked up a fraction of it. Let’s have a real herbalist look at it later.” She slowly wound the ends of the cloth around Varel’s wrist, knotting it and tucking the ends under a layer of cloth. Her fingers brushed his skin, reluctant to let go. She looked up and saw him looking at her, a tender smile on his face. 

“Thank you.”

She nodded slightly, then gently intertwined her fingers with his. His face blurred slightly and a lump formed in her throat. “Don’t jump in front of crossbow bolts again… please.”

He reached up—slowly, gently—and brushed one of the tears off her face. “I would gladly do it again to keep you safe, Commander.”

“Ainslee,” she whispered, leaning into his touch. _“Please.”_

He smiled. “Ainslee,” he said, the softness of his voice sending a spark through her.


	4. Epilogue

The horse was beyond its breaking limit, having been at a full gallop for some time. Ainslee had pulled ahead of Nathaniel as they rushed back toward Vigil’s Keep from the Mother’s lair, where Anders and Justice had remained behind to incinerate her bloated corpse and anything else that remained. 

They had saved the city from the Mother’s army before moving to her lair, leaving Vigil’s Keep to either stand or fall. Ainslee’s stomach twisted in fear and guilt, hoping that the improvements that had been made to the fortress were enough to keep it and the other Wardens safe… to keep Varel safe. Off in the distance, they could see smoke rising from the countryside, and Ainslee’s heart sank.

_Soldiers were moving quickly throughout the fortress, closing off all but the main gate and moving catapults and munitions to the top of the battlements. The darkspawn armies were on the move, and it was only a matter of time before the Vigil and Amaranthine would be attacked. Ainslee would be leading a small team toward the city in order to bolster their forces and, hopefully, turn the tide in their favor. Nathaniel, Anders, and Justice were making their last minute preparations for the trip. Ainslee was making one last round of the Vigil, giving encouragement when needed, and orders when necessary._

_She returned to the main hall, where Varel had just directed the last of the workers to go to the underground chamber that held the prison. He was dressed in his full battle armor, gleaming like a silver star in the firelight of the chamber._

_“Varel!”_

_He turned to greet her, his expression softening. Her voice was breathless as she approached him, and not only because of the constant running about the Vigil. She had to see him one last time…_

_“Ainslee,” he said. Every time he said her name, electric shocks flowed through her. The worry that she felt was reflected in his own expression, as if he had let his stoic demeanor slide just a little while with her._

_“The Vigil’s roots are deep, she’ll not fall easily,” he said. He reached out and took one of her hands in his. “You’ve done well.”_

_She squeezed his hands. “I couldn’t have done it without you… Varel, I—”_

_“Commander! The horses are ready!”_

_She looked beyond Varel’s shoulder and saw Nathaniel ducking back out of the front door. He was anxious to fight as well; this was his home, he had said, and he’d die for it._

_“It’s time,” Varel quietly said._

_Ainslee met his gaze and felt a lump form in her throat. He was right; it was time. She pulled her hand from his and embraced him in a tight hug, her head resting on the cool metal of the armor that enveloped his shoulder. She shuddered as he squeezed her back and sighed softly. “I’ll return as soon as I can,” she said._

_As she pulled back, he reached up and cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin. “I wish you good fortune. I’ll see you soon.”_

A lump formed in her throat as she remembered Varel as she last saw him. Had she lost him before she’d even had a chance to tell him how much he meant to her? 

She had known it on the day that she had left to fight for Amaranthine. It had grown on her subtly, quietly, as they had worked together to rebuild Amaranthine and the Grey Wardens. The tireless dedication to the arling and its people, his loyalty to the Grey Wardens—those were the things that had helped build their friendship at first. He was devoted to her not only as the Warden Commander, but as a friend, as she was to him. But, in time, it had gone beyond that.

Thundering hoofbeats were soon joined by the smell of smoke as she and Nathaniel rounded the last corner on the road to the Vigil’s gates. The vegetation on the ground was trampled flat and there was the unmistakable stink of corruption in the air. Just outside the walls, blackened and smoldering lumps were on the ground, the remnants of the burning projectiles that had been hurtled from catapults on the battlements. Charred corpses littered the ground all the way to and partially up the fortress walls. The walls appeared to have some damage, but looked to have held. 

She raced through the main gate. Several of the outer buildings within the fortress had burned and were still smoldering. Soldiers were moving back and forth, with several carts behind them piled with bodies of the dead—humans, dwarves, elves… and darkspawn. Soldiers called out to her as she raced through the fortress.

Near the steps to the main hall, the midday sun caught a glimmer of metal. Ainslee turned her horse toward it, urging it to gallop at full speed one last time. The people near the gate must have heard the hoofbeats and turned… including one with silver hair that matched his armor. She pulled back on the reins to urge her mount to stop and, once it did so, she dismounted and ran toward the silver beacon, taking the steps two at a time.

“Ainslee.”

Her world dissolved into rapturous joy as he greeted her with a blistering kiss.


End file.
